


I Want To Tell You

by Wings_of_Grace



Category: Across the Universe (2007), Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles, Revolver - The Beatles, The Beatles, This Boy - The Beatles
Genre: 60s, F/M, George Harrison - Freeform, John Lennon - Freeform, Multi, Ringo Starr - Freeform, The Beatles - Freeform, paul mccartney - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:10:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wings_of_Grace/pseuds/Wings_of_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19 year old Abby Green has shared a past with the Beatles in their younger years, but her job and their fame has come between them. One day she finds herself with a ticket to one of their concerts, and seeing Paul again awakens old feelings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Won't Be Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
> This is a story a friend and I worked on a few years ago, but it was never finished. We posted it on fanfiction.net under my account, and I'm uploading it here in the hopes that I continue writing it. :)  
> Feedback is welcome!

“...I’m so lonesome everyday.” The song ended with a crackle of interference on my little radio set. I listened closely to who it was by so I would know what to look for the next time I went to a record store.

“That was the song Walk Right Back by the Everly Brothers, number 31 on the What’s Hot list,” one of the announcers explained with a heavy Liverpudlian accent.

“Thank you Ted,” the other announcer cut in with a more mild accent. “And now I think we have some concert tickets that we’d like to give away.”

I looked up from the novel I was reading - and cranked the volume wheel on the radio round a few turns. Maybe it’s a concert worth going to, I thought to myself as I turned a page lazily.

“Indeed we do, Dave. This ticket is for the upcoming Beatles performance at the Cavern Club on August 3rd. I hear it will be one of the fastest-selling concerts they’ve yet to perform. The first caller with the correct answer to this next question is the lucky person who gets to attend - and not only that, but they will get one of the best seats in the house. Wot do you think of that, Dave?”

“I think lots of people - girls, mind you - would die to get one of these babies.”

“Right you are.”

That brought back a flood of memories into my mind, all hitting home at once, making my breath catch in my throat. It had all started when I had been introduced by Layla - my best friend, Paul’s then girlfriend - to them at one of their earlier gigs. It was way before they were a well-known band - heck, before they were a band....

I forced myself from my thoughts in order not to miss the competition details. I sat up and closed my book, eager to listen. My eyes scanned the room and rested on the phone next to my bed. Hopping off the bed into my fuzzy slippers, I snatched the device. My pulse quickened as my fingers poised to dial.

“Anyroad, here’s the question,” I heard one of the radio announcers say. Too late I wondered if having access to a magazine might have been helpful; if I didn’t know the answer within moments, I was going to be beaten by some fan with a stack of materials ready to go.

“Which member of the Beatles is the only one who is left handed?”

I grinned in triumph, my whole body relaxing. That was too easy. I dialed the number that the announcers had given, and waited as it rang. Come on, I thought impatiently, pick up, pick UP! I anxiously waited a few more rings until I heard a click on the other end.

“Hullo. This is Ted from your local radio station. Do you have the answer to our Beatles question?”

“Yeah, I do. The answer is Paul, Paul McCartney.” I tugged at a strand of hair and wriggled my toes nervously.

“Oi Dave!” Ted shouted into my ear, causing me to jerk the phone away from my ear in surprise.

“Wot?” I heard a something clatter and then some muffled curses in the background.

“Is the answer Paul McCartney?” I heard Ted ask.

“Uhm... Paul McCartney... Yes!” Dave shouted back in the background.

“An’ we have our winner!” Ted announced, back on the air. “Wot’s your name, miss?”

“My name’s Abby. Abby Green, “ I answered, unable to keep a grin from spreading across my face. With my luck, it was a triumph winning any kind of competition, let alone one that had a prize I was desperate for. A slight thrill ran through me at hearing my voice announced on the radio, and I wondered briefly if anyone I knew might be listening.

“Alright Abby, you can come and pick your ticket up right now.” He quickly gave me directions on how to get to the radio station.

“Thank you!” I beamed into the phone and hung up. My slippers were abandoned for shoes as I made a beeline for the door. Grabbing the keys from their hook beside the door, I scampered out the door.

~

Once I found the right building, I parked my beautiful cherry-red Chevrolet (my pride and joy - I’d only recently gotten it for my 19th birthday from my parents. I savoured a quick look over it’s shining coat and polished mirrors before turning away) with a crunch of gravel and got out. I looked up at the building and took in a deep breath. It was a huge looming place, giving off an almost intimidating feeling, a complete clash to the cheerful feel of the radio station when I’d listened in to it. I pushed through the swinging doors and found myself in a long hallway with statues propped up against the walls all the way up and oil paintings hanging in neat lines. Feeling a little lost, I peered at the doors, wondering where to go next, when suddenly one was pushed open and a scruffy looking man with a mess of brown hair and big cheeky eyes, presumably Ted, appeared. As soon as he saw me his mouth broke into a grin and he headed over to me, waving. “Hullo. Are you Abby Green?”

I nodded, brightening at a more friendly sight, and walked over to him.“Yes, I am.”

“Here’s your ticket ma’am, and congratulations on winning it.”

“Thanks again,” I said, returning his smile. I looked down at what he’d given me, treasuring the feel of the fresh, uncreased ticket in my palm as he pressed it into my hand.

As I turned and walked back toward the doors, I imagined what it would be like to see the Beatles perform in person for the first time in two years, and my heart jumped with joy.


	2. Get Back

Wow. So I was truly set to see the Beatles tonight.

The thought painted a smile on my face when I woke up on the morning of August 3rd, thankfully a Sunday. I flopped over in bed to sit upright and peered at my clock. 8:15am. Blinking blearily while the sleep slowly left my eyes, I looked around my room. My flat wasn’t much; a modest little place with comfy furniture and posters dominating the walls. In my room there was little space, just enough room for a squashy double bed and a wardrobe crushed into the corner, shoes and clothes practically spilling out the doors which were currently jammed shut with a stack of books. Most of the other rooms were tidy to a certain extent, if you skipped over the desk covered in paper and pen lids, and the coffee table that seemed to always have at least one apple core or pile of rubbish every time I passed it.

Still feeling drowsy, I stumbled out of my room, grabbed clothes at random on my way, and made a beeline for the shower. Even though I was only there to watch the Beatles perform, I felt a bit pressured to look my best for the gig.

As I let the warm water trickle over me, shampooing my hair in clumps and swirls, I thought back on my memories with the four of them.

John had no doubt always been the pack leader. He was unquestionably flirty, rude, cheeky, obnoxious, and sometimes just plain mean. Yet I had always thought, in the time I’d known him, there was a gentler John beneath his harsh, over-confident exterior. He rarely showed that side of himself, but I knew it was there. I sometimes pondered at how much music had saved him... It had transformed a boy with little or no ambition to an incredibly talented musician.

George was definitely the quieter one that always seemed a bit of a mystery to me. He had always seemed so gentle and polite compared to the others, always a sweet word ready on his tongue. While John and Paul played up to all the crowds they could get, Georgie always seemed absorbed in his guitar, as if still he were still in a little back room practicing rather than in front of masses of people.

Ringo, on the other hand, I had grown to know much better. He was an idiot at times - they all were - but like George, he always meant well and was a loyal friend. There was no doubt he loved to play; out of the four, he was always the one with the biggest grin onstage as he slammed his beaters across the drum set. He’d always teased me when I hung out with them because I could play no instrument and was so out of depth in any conversation regarding music. I could see his point, I guess.

Paul... he was the one who perhaps I had known best of all. He was an ever lingering thought at the back of my mind, the little memories I had of him forever surfacing here and there, replaying in my mind. We’d always got along well - same sense of humor or just personalities that clicked, I wasn’t really sure. He was a sweetie, with all his charms and his adorable big eyes. He was a complete flirt of course. I could remember gritting my teeth when girl after girl came onto him, but I never really voiced my annoyance. Did I regret that? I wasn’t sure. Perhaps seeing him at the performance tonight would answer that. Or at least, my own reactions would.

Patting myself dry with a towel, I pulled on the lazily chosen clothes I’d dropped on the floor and peered in the mirror, hair dripping trails of water down the back of my neck. I was a fairly slender girl, with a semi-tall, sporty build from plenty of swimming and running. My nose was sharply bridged, my skin infuriatingly pale even in the heat of summer, and a dusting of freckles flecked across my cheeks. People tended to comment on my eyes, which were a deep green with long lashes. They were slightly obscured by my hair, which was determined to spring all over my face whenever not restrained by a thorough brush. It was a mousy brown with strands of bright gold blonde and darker brunette beneath. Naturally it was wavy, though when I attacked it during a heated session with my hairdryer, it generally lay pretty much straight.

Meandering out into my bedroom again, I chucked the towel in the washing basket and peered at the clock. Still a few hours to go. I looked restlessly round the room, knowing I wasn’t going to be spending that much time on makeup or hair. A soft rustling awoke me from my thoughts. In the armchair across my room was a huge furry mound of long speckled brown fur. Proceeding cautiously, I knelt down and waved my fingers a safe distance from my cat’s paws. “Poppyyy,” I cooed, watching as her eyes opened and narrowed at me. She had a truly evil glare when woken up, not helped by the fact that her fur was splayed out in all directions, giving her a lion-like look. Her tail was a small furry stump where she’d been operated on by the vet after being hit by a car, and there were patches in her coat where her fur had been cut off at the roots when I forgot to brush it through properly and it had gotten clumped together at the ends. People tended to remark that she looked like I’d just scooped her off the streets and dumped her in my flat.

Suddenly, I felt a wet nose nudge my hand.

I turned to see Ginger, my small Terrier pup, bobbing up and down in an attempt to get my attention. Once he was satisfied that he had my full attention, he raced to the door in a streak of light brown fur and began to whine. It was clear what he wanted. I quickly finished pulling my brush through my hair, then followed him to the door.

Once I latched the leash onto my hyper dog, we made our way outside to be greeted by the summer sun and clear blue sky. It was such a beautiful day - perfect for the concert. I began to get lost in my thoughts as I walked down the sidewalk. With Ginger pulling me along, I was barely concentrating on what I was doing.

I hadn’t really given much thought to my high school years since I had graduated and started my job as editor for the paper, but ever since I had won the concert ticket I began to have small flashbacks of my earlier life.

Layla had been a friend of mine almost right after I moved to Liverpool from the US. (My pop had found work here, so we packed up when I was about to begin high school in 1957.) We entered high school together, and soon after she got her first boyfriend - Paul McCartney. I’d seen him around a few times, never really talked to him. That was about when she invited me along to the first gig of the band he was in; the Quarrymen. That night changed my life. They were just a skiffle group, but they surprised me - they were really good.

There was the leader of the group, John Lennon, then Paul, George Harrison, Stu Sutcliffe, and different drummers almost every time they played - until they found Pete Best. They were such easy lads to hang out with. Soon I was a regular attendee at their gigs, even after Layla broke up with Paul. The only time I wasn't there to cheer them on was when they went to Hamburg or when I was confined to my room by my parents (which was thankfully almost never).

Then Brian Epstein became their manager, and before I knew it, they had released Love Me Do, Ringo became their drummer, and Paul took Stu’s place after he unexpectedly died of cancer. I attended a few of those earlier performances, but by the beginning of this year (1963), it became increasingly difficult to get a ticket. It seems silly that I’d forget all that, but these last few months have changed a lot of things - getting my own apartment and working at a new job, I’d been swamped.

But now I’d get my chance to see them again.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as I heard someone shouting my name.

“Abby! Hey Abby!” I turned in amazement to see Layla across the street from me, waving like her life depended on it. I planted a grin on my incredulous face, and crossed the street to meet her. “Layla! I didn’t know you lived around here!”

“Oh, well I don’t, but I was hoping to catch you. We haven’t seen each other in a while.” She crushed me with a bear hug.

“Well, I’ve been busy with work and all. What about you?”

“I’ve been working as usual. But listen! Guess what happened the other night? Sean proposed to me!” She proceeded to give me all the details. Then she caught her breath. “Do you think you could be a bridesmaid?” she asked me excitedly.

“Of course!” I accepted, grinning properly now. “I’m so happy for you.”

As we walked together, we discussed almost everything we could think to talk about. Layla seemed the same as always, still flowing and pretty with long blonde hair and thick eyelashes that had boys peering from across the street. She also had the same modesty that made her think exactly the opposite about herself. It was something I’d always liked about her - she had always been popular and crushed on, but it didn’t go to her head. Now on one of her long, slender fingers, was a beautiful golden ring.

Looking at it, for some reason I suddenly remembered the concert. “I have to go. I have a ticket to the Beatles concert at the Cavern today in forty-five minutes.”

She winked at me. “Ohh! Have fun.” If she had any grudges against a particular member of the said band, she didn’t show it.

I laughed. “I will!” We hugged one last time and bid our farewells. Ginger tugged me back to my apartment, just in time to get ready.

Once inside, I grabbed a stick of lipstick and rolled it onto my lips. I applied a bit of mascara with careful flicks at my lashes, put on one of my better sweaters, grabbed my ticket off my night stand and rushed out the door again. The last thing I wanted was to be late for this concert.


	3. I've Just Seen A Face

It felt like I pushed past the whole of Liverpool in my attempt to get to my seat in the Cavern. The club was packed to the brim with Liverpudlians; mostly girls. It was a wonder a place so small could hold so many. I finally found my seat at the row very near to the front next to a girl who looked like she was on the brink of fainting. _Please._ The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, too warm and too oxygen lacking.

Then it hit me dead on - I was going to see the boys perform again! I sat forward in my seat in anticipation, hands clasped, eyes glued to the stage, waiting for them to appear.

My ears rang with the screams of girls all around me, and soon then they began to chant. “We want the Beatles! We want the Beatles!” Finally, the fab four made their big entrance, causing the cheering decibel to increase at least two times what it was before.

They scarcely looked different from the last time I’d seen them in person. Maybe a little older, but that was it. George looked more like a man than a boy now, and Ringo’s face seemed a bit more mature. Each one of them had their hair styled into their famous mop-tops that were their signature hairstyle.

The screaming became so overwhelming that I had to cover my ears. I watched as they got their equipment out, looking surprisingly at ease when considering the potential danger right below the stage. Paul began setting up the microphones, George tuned his guitar, Ringo settled behind his drums ready to start, and John toggled the controls on the amplifier.

After a few long minutes, John jumped up with a quirky smile and stepped jauntily up to the mic. “‘Ello evurybody. We’ll be startin’ off with our latest song, She Luvs You,” he announced, making the crowd go wild for his thick accent. John turned, his back to the audience, and bobbed his head, counting in the others. Paul and George stepped up to share the mic on the right side of the stage while John took the one in the center. With that, they began to work their magic. “She luvs you, yeah, yeah, yeah, she luvs you yeah, yeah, yeah, she luvs you yeah, yeah, yeah, yeaaah.” I found my self nodding my head to the beat. God I had missed these performances! Well, except for the pandemonium. There were girls pulling at their hair and screaming their favorite Beatle’s names over and over - it made me feel more than a little threatened, to be quite frank. I couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of it.

The song ended far too soon. Paul turned towards the mic grinning, his brow glistening. “The next song we’ll be singin’ is called I Saw Her Standing There.” He then nodded at John and shouted into the microphone, “One, two, three, fwaur!” I cheered them on through the song and sang along a bit too. It was my favorite Beatles song by far. It might have had something to do with the fact that Paul was the lead singer of course...

It was truly amazing, watching them perform. George was in between John and Paul in his own world, making every single note he played count. John was standing in the way he usually did - his feet a bit more than shoulder length apart, his upper torso tilted backwards while he bobbed up and down to the beat. Paul was swaying back and forth with that grin that told you he was having a great time. Ringo was behind them all, smiling goofily and beating on his drums.

Song after song was performed until they were down to their last of the afternoon.

“This’ll be our las’ numba fo’ tonight,” Paul informed the crowd, mopping his forehead briefly with his cuff. “We’d like to thank you all for comin’.” With that they launched into loud twangings of their guitars that blended so well, and John began to sing - well, shout - Twist and Shout. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon babeh now!” That really got the crowd going. I stood up and started shouting with them, letting myself get caught up in the adoration. Everyone stood, cheered, and whistled as the four of them finished the song, stepped back and bowed in a synchronized line. I watched as they followed each other off the stage with their guitars swinging around their waists.

A groan escaped my lips as I got up and turned to look for the exits. The one thing about these concerts I truly hated was the wait to get out. It took a lot of “excuse me”’s, “pardon me”’s and then finally resorting to pushing, but I finally got to the doors; and that was after waiting for the worst of the mob to disappear. As soon as I was free from the Cavern, I was pushed about by other people cramming out of the doors, trying to get to their vehicles. I smoothed out my skirt and looked around for my shinning red beauty. That was about when I was knocked right into someone and fell, sprawling on the ground.

“‘Ey, watch where yer goin’!” I heard the person shout. I got to my feet, an angry retort ready on my tongue, when I noticed who it was that I had collided with. It was Paul McCartney. “Well excuse me Sir,” I said irritably, a playful tone edging it. My heart had started thumping so fast, it was a miracle that I didn’t squeak or tremble.

He frowned, probably wondering if I was being sarcastic or not. Peering closer at my face, he got this look on his face.

“Wait a minute... Do I... Abby?” he asked, a grin creeping onto his adorable cheeky face. I rolled my eyes, letting my mouth turn in a grin, and nodded. “Glad to see you remember me.”

“Aw, cum ‘ere you!” He pulled me into a tight brotherly hug, causing my heart to skip a beat. “Wot are you doin’ ‘ere?”

“I came to see you boys perform. It was a great performance by the way,” I complimented as he let me go. I had missed him and his hugs and the way he always seemed to be able to tell how long or bone-crushing I preferred them to be, depending on my mood.

He straightened up and pulled at the insides of his jacket together all posh-like, an abrupt character change from his enthusiastic greeting. “Thank you, m’dear,” he said smartly. His grin began to disappear as people started to realize precisely who he was and that he was there in the midst of them all with no guards. “Do you mind if we moved this conversation back to the lads? I think we’re startin’ to attract unwanted attention,” he whispered, ducking his head in an attempt to be unseen. I suppressed a giggle. He’d never been the best at disguising himself.

“Okay,” I agreed readily. He took my hand in his, bringing a light pink coloring to my cheeks, and led me quickly though the crowd to the back of the Cavern where three of the most talented people I’ve ever met were waiting.


	4. All Together Now

After many close incidents where people nearly recognized Paul, we made it to the back of the Cavern where the other three boys were loading their stuff into their van. It didn’t look at all like a van the Beatles would travel in, which I guess was its purpose, as the windows were tainted and the paint job was really bad; the “white” coat with a hint of rust was peeling off everywhere, revealing its silver finishing underneath.

When we reached them, their instruments, mics and amps were being carefully stacked up in a semi-neat pile in the back of the van. John was in the middle of helping Ringo push his drum set up the makeshift ramp (a few planks propped up). Different parts were clanging and shaking wildly as they tried to fit it in. They were almost done when Ringo noticed us standing there; he jumped up and flung his arms out wildly, causing the set to wham right into an unsuspecting John with a dramatic clash of cymbals. John began to swear like none other, hopping from foot to foot as he noticed us standing there.

“John,” I mused, crossing my arms over my chest with a playful smile. “Same as always.”

He grinned, lifting an eyebrow and gingerly placing his feet on the ground with a wince. “Oh yeah? I’ve gotten more polite - we’ve had lessons.” He gave me a wink and then pulled me into a sudden bear hug. “We’ve missed ya - well, maybe not quite as much as Macca here,” he stated over my shoulder, grinning presumably at Paul.

I could picture Paul rolling his eyes and blushing. “You’re the one to talk, Lennon.”

“Yeah, that I am.”

George appeared in his little way of sneaking in without letting anyone know and tapped me on the shoulder. “Abs! I’m taller than you are now,” he teased. I took a good look at him and realized that he was right. I couldn’t tell from my seat earlier but he had certainly shot up a good few inches. I pouted over our on-going argument. “You just wait...” I laughed and pulled George into a hug too.

A voice pipped up from behind me. “What about me?” I turned to find Ringo pulling his puppy dog face on me, his blue eyes staring up at me and his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “Don’t worry Rings, I didn’t forget about you,” I replied comfortingly.

After I’d finished collecting all my over-due Beatle hugs, they began to fill me in about their growing fame. Apparently they had really started to hit it off after Hamburg and after releasing Please Please Me, concerts were filling faster than they could've imagined.

“This might be the last Cavern concert because of how small the place is,” Paul admitted, scratching his cheek with his middle finger - he always did that, I realized. It was one of his adorable quirks. I could see a little disappointment in his hazel eyes, and instinctively my mouth curved turned downwards. The Cavern was what made them. It wouldn’t be easy to just leave it behind.

“We have had good times here-” John paused to give us a naughty grin that made me unsure if I really wanted to know what exactly he was talking about - “but we’ll soon be in bigger, better places. Where are we off to lads?” John asked, as if this was a routine they all knew quite well.

“To the toppermost of the poppermost!!” they all shouted enthusiastically, all sadness replaced with vigorous energy.

I laughed. “Okay, so enough about the band. Has George gotten himself a girl yet?”

“No, even though they’ve practically been throwing themselves at his feet every chance they get.” John attempted a swoon to demonstrate, and I had trouble holding back a snort. John certainly was the same. “The other day this blonde bird came up to him an’ - you’d never believe it - he refused her! Can ‘ou believe it?? I would’ve accepted on the spot. She had the best set of-”

“It pays not to just go for the first bird you see,” George interrupted what had the potential to be a very vulgar comment. He scowled at John as his thick eyebrows knit together.

John shrugged it off. “Whatever Georgie. You have your motto, I have mine.” He grinned, making me grimace at the thought.

“Oi, lads, I believe that I have the best way to snag birds,” Paul announced, winking at me.

“Oh yes, I’m married and you have a girlfriend. Yeah, you’re so much better than me.” John smirked. I looked up at Paul, shocked, although it wasn’t like it should have been a surprise. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a small blush. I had mixed feelings about this, but I brushed them aside... for now.

“Can I help you guys pack up?” I asked, breaking up the reunion.

“Sure, there’s a few mics still inside,” Ringo piped up politely, pointing to the door on the side of the Cavern that was propped open. I excused myself and went in, leaving them with the job of getting Ringo’s drums back up and into the van.

~

I stepped inside the door, which appeared to be the backstage. I walked across to where the two microphone stands were sitting and scooped them up. Just as I began to leave, I heard two muffled giggles coming from somewhere off to my left. I peered around the dim stage but saw nothing. I resumed my walk to the door when suddenly I was nearly stampeded by two girls coming out of nowhere with pens and pads of paper. I heard them shriek when they found the open door. I ran after them, wondering if this was a regular thing now.

Outside the girls were all over the four of them begging for autographs. I caught Paul’s eye and raised my eyebrow. His response was a sheepish grin. He signed for both of them and motioned for me to get into the van with them. I gladly followed him in as he shut the door behind me, earning looks of hatred from the two girls.

I sat down by Ringo who had saved me a spot next to him. I gave him a quick smile which was returned sweetly. “What was that all about?” I asked, brushing my hair out of my face as I made myself comfortable.

“That was our fan base,” Paul answered.

“They love us,” John stated as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Usually there’s a lot more than two waitin’ for us.”

“We’re lucky today,” Ringo added.

“Fun,” I noted. “They nearly ran me over trying to get to the door,” I laughed.

“They are quite possessive when it comes to us,” Paul chuckled uneasily, taking a cigarette from John.

“So... where are we going now?” I asked casually, sitting back against the rugged seat.

“Over to the pub. We forgot to ask ya if you minded,” John grinned deviously.

I rolled my eyes, fanning smoke away from my face. “You know I have a job to be at in the morning.” I sighed, seeing four pleading faces that I just couldn’t say no to. “I guess I can stay for a little while...”

“That’s the Abby we know!” Ringo announced, smiling proudly.

“Rings, it really surprises me how happy you are during the day but what a drag you are in the morning,” George remarked - a classic George comment.

“What can I say?” Ringo agreed, leaning backward into the leather seat and puffing on his cigarette. “I’m one happy bloke when I don’t ‘ave three bloody wankas shoutin’ at me to get up when it’s only 7 in the bleedin' mornin'.”

All the ride there the discussion involved their latest songs and albums, what they planned to record in the near future, with a few crude remarks and little jabs every once in awhile. I even got to hear the beginning of a song they called “It Won’t Be Long” complete with guitar playing, singing and even a bit of drums from the backseat. Every once in awhile a random topic would pop up that would remind me how much I had missed being with the lads. I found myself desperately hoping that I could somehow hang on to them this time.


	5. I'm Happy Just to Dance With You

The club we arrived at was a fairly good looking place called the “Top-Ten”. Apparently the Beatles were known customers there, so they were expecting a crowd. As we exited the van, I thanked Mal for the ride. I felt a rush of relief that I had chosen to wear one of my better dresses - a dark emerald green thing that stopped a few inches above my knees with ruffles going through it giving it a sophisticated yet bouncy and playful feel. Perfect for dancing.

Once we got in John was whisked away at once, hidden by a crowd of five or more girls all grabbing his arms and leading him away. Ringo made his way to the dance floor, and George hung around by the bar, smoking and looking deep in thought.

Paul on the other hand, graciously remembered me and stayed by my side.

“What do you think luv?” he asked as we took a seat on the right end of the bar.

“Not bad,” I mused, nodding my head to the music that was playing.

“C’mon. Not bad? This is one of the best in Liverpool!” He gave me a lopsided grin and ordered a brandy. “One for me too please,” I added. Paul cocked an eyebrow. “What?” I asked defensively.

“Oh nothing, it’s just that our Abs is growing up so fast.” He pretended to wipe away a fake tear from his eye, and sniffed.

I shoved his arm lightly. “Oh stop it. I’m just a year younger than you, and you started drinking when?”

He raised his hands in defeat. “Okay okay, you win.” He nodded a thanks to the bartender as he slid our drinks across the counter to us. I started to reach for my purse when Paul stopped me and tossed a wad of cash at the bartender. “It’s on me tonight.”

“Oh come on Paul-”

He shook his head, which actually made me a bit relieved. I didn’t have all that much cash to be spending freely. “We brought you ‘ere, we pay.” He shifted in his seat so that he was facing me and sipped at his drink. “So tell me; what do you do for your job exactly?”

I paused to think before responding. “Well... I edit all the articles for the local paper, and deal with letters to the newspaper. You know, like, letters to the editor.”

He nodded. “I could never do that. It would be too much sitting still. Plus, I’m not the best at grammar and such.”

“It’s not that hard actually. The people who write them in the first place are really good at it so usually there’s not much I have to correct.”

We went on talking about things that would be boring to discuss with anyone but Paul. He was the best person to talk to; he listened, wanted to know more, and seemed to genuinely care about what I was saying. I got so caught up in the conversation that before I knew it, my brandy was completely gone and the song playing on the dance floor had changed to a more familiar tune.

“Nice music selection,” I mused, watching Paul’s reaction.

He laughed. “I think they knew we were coming.” He tipped his ear to hear himself sing ‘I Saw Her Standing There’.

“This is my favorite I think, so far,” I commented.

“It is, is it?” He eyed me and then asked, “Do you still dance as well as you did two years ago?”

“Better.” I grinned and took his outstretched hand as he led me to the floor.

Ever since I got involved with the Beatles, I’d been dancing - but no one had been as fun to dance with as Paul. It was so much fun, particularly because every time I forgot myself and started to lose my smile, his crazy flop of hair and wiggling eyebrows planted it promptly back on. It seemed as though we’d just started dancing when the song abruptly ended.

“So,” I smiled, breathing heavily. “How-”

A raven-haired girl appeared suddenly from behind Paul and took his arm. “Paulie! Mind if I have a dance?” she purred. I frowned, about to say something when Paul gave me a look.

“Sorry Abby, I’ll catch up with you later.” He gave me an apologetic grin and then was swept away.

I glowered after them, feeling utterly rejected. I’d just been ditched by Paul. I stalked over to the bar again in a huff. Who did that girl think she was? Why did Paul just take off with her? Was she more important than... me? I decided to drown my thoughts in another drink. I caught the bartender’s eye. “A couple shots of tequila for me, please.”

George pulled up a stool next to me. “Having fun?”

I sighed. “Not really. You?”

“Yeah, same ‘ere.” We shared a laugh.

“What, no girls for you?” I teased.

He shook his head seriously. “Nope. They know it too. They keep their distance most of the time.”

I glanced over at him, taking in his expression properly for the first time. George was different than the others in a multitude of ways. Not only did he refuse to eat up the fame that was lapping at his feet, but he sometimes even seemed to resent it.

“Maybe it would be better if you went in disguise and tried to meet someone who wasn’t some crazed fan,” I suggested him, wanting to put his smile back on his boyish face.

“Wearin’ a wig, sunglasses, and what else?” He wriggled his eyebrows at me.

“Who knows, there might be someone out there looking for just that,” I grinned.

“If there is, I haven’t met her yet. But how about you? Anyone special in your life?”

I gave him a look that sent him giggling. “What?”

“Yur face...” he smirked.

“Well, if my expression didn’t answer you, then no. I do not have a boyfriend.” I nodded my thanks to the bartender as he slid a few shots my way.

“That’s good, cos there’s a lad out there who’s waitin’ for ya, I just know it.” He winked, and a shiver went up my spine. Something told me that there was a huge amount of wisdom in those words.

I shook it off. “How would you know, Georgie?” I questioned, downing my second shot. It burned my throat so deliciously.

“I happen to be a very gifted reader of feelings,” he answered.

That sent me into a fit of giggles. “Yeah right. You’re funny Georgie.”

He gave me an uncomfortable look. “Um, Abby?”

“What?” I dared, polishing off my final shot. My head was reeling, and I could tell that my common sense was becoming a little fuzzy.

He eyed me, amused. "You seem a tad drunk, luv."

I put up my hand as a gesture of his ridiculousness. "I'm definitely NOT drunk. M'fine. I think I want to find Paul now," I slurred, stepping of my stool and promptly wobbling back onto the counter for support. How many drinks had I had? I couldn't quite remember. I suppressed another giggle when I noticed George's expression.

“I’ll call Mal,” he said gently, getting up from his seat.

“No, don’t you leave me too...” but he was gone. I stood up clumsily again (the heels weren’t helping), this time a bit more successfully. I made my way to the bar door and pushed it open, knocking over a couple making out in the process. The air was cool and fresh, a welcome difference from the stuffy bar. Breathing in the beautifully clear air, I walked a few steps, trying to remember why exactly I had come outside. The streets were very quiet this time of night, and the dim light of the lamp in front of the bar helped to illustrate the beautifully eerie picture. I raised my eyes to the sky, admiring the way the stars danced and twinkled amongst themselves in various patterns. Suddenly a wave of nausea hit me like a freight train and the world began to spin as if I were on a merry-go-round. I slumped over onto one of the brick walls, and before I knew it, everything turned black.


	6. Good Morning Good Morning

My vision came back in little shards, like bits of a jigsaw. A bright light. Pale blue walls. A big framed picture that seemed to be made of lots of photos. Paul...

...Why did it smell like Paul?

How did I even know what that smelled like?

Jerked out of my slumber by these unsettling thoughts, I sat up. Instantly everything started spinning and I clapped a hand to my forehead as a fresh spear of pain lanced through it. I had definitely drank far, far too much last night.

“Ah, the princess awakes,” I heard a voice say sarcastically. John.

“Shut up.” George appeared in front of me, waving a hand before my eyes as if he thought I was still drunk. “Feel any better, Abs?”

“No,” I grunted, forcing myself to look around the room properly. The boy’s sitting room was huge - it was more like a house in a single set of four walls. The middle was clustered with big plush sofas and piles of soft cushions. I seemed to be sprawled across one with a heavy blanket tucked over me and my head resting on an impossibly comfy pillow.

Shaking the unsettling memory of last night away, I threw my legs over the side of the sofa. “Did I… pass out?” A wave of embarrassment came over me. I never fainted. I never got drunk, let alone so intoxicated that I passed out in the street.

“It’s just as well that I found you. You were out for the count.” George frowned.

“How long have I been… here?” I asked, gesturing around the huge room, unable to find a suitable name for it.

“About… oh, ‘bout 11 hours.”

“WHAT?” I sat bolt upright, eyes widening. “No way. I never sleep that long.”

“We have pretty comfy sofas,” Ringo put in. I hadn’t even noticed him, sitting on the opposite sofa alongside John.

“But...” I mumbled, blushing brightly. I had passed out, had been collected by George, and had then proceeded to spend almost half a day snoring on their coach. As first impressions after a long time go, I wasn’t doing too great.

“Oi Paul, you can have your pillow back now,” John called to the back of the room, and I felt my cheeks burn even brighter. Wonderful. So I had also stolen Paul’s pillow. No wonder everything had smelled like him when I woke up.

Paul mumbled something from another room and then walked in. His hazel eyes softened when they fell on me. “‘ou can still use it if you want, Abs. I have ten more in my room.” He flopped down on on the sofa with John and Ringo, who were both watching the scene with interest. This certainly would be fun.

“Have you made breakfast yet?” I asked, my stomach growling with hunger. I grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah, we did, two hours ago,” John scoffed. “It’s one in the bloody ‘fternoon already.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know Beatles were capable of waking up that early by themselves,” I countered, flopping back down on my stomach.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about us, luv.” John winked.

I rolled my eyes.

“For example,” he continued, “Paulie has a habit of shaping his eyebrows when he gets nervous.”

“Oi! Take that back!” Paul shouted, grabbing a nearby pillow and holding it over John threateningly.

“It’s true,” Ringo agreed innocently.

I groaned and covered my ears with Paul’s pillow to muffle the sounds of a raging pillow fight, his wonderful aftershave and cigarette scent enveloping me...

No, I chided myself. Get up. I groaned and pulled myself away from the very inviting and warm pillow and sofa I had just spent the last eleven hours in. John and Paul had quickly ceased their pillow fight and had taken out their guitars. Together they were picking out something that didn’t sound half bad. Ringo was beating along on the sofa’s armrest, and George was sitting and observing as he smoked a cigarette, a serious look painted on his face. It was quite comical how in one second they could be doing something as childish as a pillow fight, and in the next they could be the most serious guys you’d ever meet.

I untangled myself from the blanket and ran a hand distractedly through my hair. I was almost glad there wasn’t a mirror to look in, because it felt like I had spent the night in a hedge. I was in desperate need of a shower and my head was still thundering in a painful, steady tempo. Out of all the people that had to see me like this, I was parked in front of every single member of The Beatles. Fortunately the boys didn’t seem all too bothered, but it didn’t stop a soft flush from shooting across my cheeks. I hid my embarrassment by jumping up and walking towards the doorway. 

“Need any help?” Ringo offered helpfully from his perch on the sofa. 

“No thanks Rings, I’ll find something,” I responded. Food was the main priority for me right then since the only thing I’d had in my system for the past 18 hours was alcohol. It took me a moment to find the kitchen since there were so many rooms branching out from their hallway, but I finally stumbled into the right one. Making a beeline for the fridge, I opened it wide. An old jug of milk, two eggs, a bottle of orange juice, rotting apples and a few donuts greeted me. “Blegh,” I coughed as the apples’ smell wafted to my nose. Eggs seemed like the best way to go, so I grabbed the two remaining and the carton of milk and set to work.

By the time the Beatles had decided to find out what I was up to, my breakfast had just finished cooking.

Ringo entered first. “Mmm,” he hummed. “That smells fab. Will there be any extras?” he politely inquired.

I chuckled as I grabbed a fork to dig in. “You can have a bite if you’d like.” My concoction had ended up as two poached eggs, a glass of juice and a couple of donuts. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the boys seemed constantly hungry.

Suddenly there were two more Beatles in the small kitchen. John and Paul had seemingly decided to race to the kitchen, and John being John had shoved Paul out of the way at the last second, sending him reeling into the counter where I was eating. He hit the marble and fell to the ground. John flopped into the room and knocked over my glass of juice as he put out his arms to steady himself. He looked down at the floor that was slowly becoming orange and then gave me a grin.

“Joohhnnn,” I whined. “That was my juice. And look what you did to Paul.”

John got to his feet and bowed. “My apologies miss, but that wanker deserved it.”

I groaned as I tried to hold back my laughter. “Guard my food,” I instructed Ringo as I went around the counter to help Paul, since it seemed like neither of them were planning on it. Paul was laying on the ground in a fetal position whimpering like a wounded dog. Immediately I felt a rush of concern for him. Oh please dear God let him be okay… I dropped to my knees in front of him. “Paul?” I coaxed hopefully.

Paul opened one of his eyes and broke into a smile. “Well ‘ello there luv.” He sat up and brushed his trousers off while I sat there in confusion.

“What… I thought you were actually hurt!” I stated incredulously. John and Ringo, who had been watching the whole thing, burst out laughing.

“‘at’s a good one!” John cackled.

Frowning, I turned back to Paul. He was still sitting there on the linoleum, grinning at me. “Sorry Abby, I just luv seeing yer face like that, all concerned-like.”

“Jerk,” I retorted playfully, trying to hide the fact that my heart had skipped a beat at his last comment. I crossed my arms across my chest with a ‘hmmph.’

“Oh come ‘ead, it was just a joke. ‘M sorry,” he said as he stood up in the soft voice of his that made you want to melt. He offered me his hand and reluctantly I accepted it. Instantly my hand was ultra-sensitive. His hand was warm, soft, and callused - but in a good way. I felt his muscles contract and pull me right up, surprising me. He’d evidently gotten fitter since the last time I’d seen him.

“Wot the bloody ‘ell is goin’ on?” a low voice asked. George appeared at the doorway, his thick eyebrows knit together in surprise.

“Er, nothing,” I answered dumbly.

George peered around the counter. “There’s orange juice on the floor,” he commented helpfully.

John rolled his eyes. “Gee thanks mate, we woulda missed that if it weren’t for you.” He snatched a donut from my plate and gobbled it down while I glowered at him.  
“John!” Ringo scolded. “This ‘ere is Abby’s food, and she needs it. You, on the other hand, don’t.”

“Are ye tryin’ ta say I’m pudgy? Eh, Rings? I reckon ye’ve gone potty mate.” As if to prove his point, John posed, showing off his stomach. “Ye’d be bloody blind ta call this anythin’ other than beautiful.” He fluttered his eyes.

I giggled as John paraded around the kitchen through the mess. Suddenly it dawned on me to check the time. “Hey, guys, is there a clock in here?”

Ringo pointed helpfully above the fridge. I whirled around, stuffing the last bite of egg into my mouth. “Shit!” It was well past 2pm, and I was supposed to be at work at five hours ago! With all the Beatlesque pandemonium and my excitement to reunite with the boys, I had completely forgotten about life’s responsibilities. “I really need to get home,” I sputtered, starting to feel panicked.

That got all the boys’ attention. “We can get Mal to drive you back right away,” Paul said helpfully, putting a hand on my arm in an attempt to calm me down. John exited the room in a search for a telephone, presumably to get ahold of their road manager. Ringo finished soaking up the spilled orange juice while George polished off the last donut.

I nodded. “Okay, thanks. I’m really sorry for the sudden rush, but today I was supposed to write a featured piece about the city’s new city hall, and it’s kinda a big deal for my boss,” I explained.

“Mal’s outside!” John shouted from the hallway.

Paul turned to me. “You’re gonna do just maaavelous on that article, I know ya will,” he smiled at me.

“Yeah, go show ‘em who’s boss,” Ringo added. “Have a good day!”

Running my fingers through my hair for the millionth time, I made my way to the hallway and turned around one last time. “Thank you guys, for everything. I had a lot of fun last night. And thanks for putting up with my lightweightedness,” I thanked bashfully.

“We’ll catch you later?” Paul inquired, tilting his head slightly to one side. He was too cute for his own good.

“Yes, definitely,” I promised.

“ABBY!” John yelled from the hallway, exasperated. “Cor, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you wanted to be even later.”

“Coming, coming!” I did one final wave and dashed into the hallway and, once I found the door, I gave John a grateful smile and walked out the door.


End file.
